No Real Affection
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
Summary: After the second attempt on Padme's life, the young senator and Anakin find themselves getting to know each other again.


Hallo! Thanks for bothering to take a peek a my fic! I do hope you enjoy this. ^_^ This a little bit of a 'missing moments' thing, except I take a little leeway. It's ment to take place after Anakin and Obiwan return from hunting down Zam. I think that would have been the first time Anakin and Padme really got to talk... Well, I'll shut up now. 

Kiss, Kiss, ;-)   
Meredith 

(to the tune of "Three Blind Mice")   
_"Mere has a fic,   
Mere has a fic,   
See how she begs,   
See how she begs,   
She could really use some feedback,  
She'd love you forever if you'd give her that,   
Have you ever heard of such a chick,   
wanting feedback for a fic?" _

======================   
No Real Affection 1/1   
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory   
mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com   
http://www.demando.net   
====================== 

Blue had fallen over Padme's eyes; for a long time after the Jedi and his apprentice left to pursue her assassin, the blue lingered unlike anything else. It wasn't the color the word for it indicated, but nothing else would do; it was chill and alive and she had seen it tossed far back in the black of Anakin's eyes as he crouched over her. How strange his face had seemed in the glow of his lightsaber, how odd it had been to know the weapon was so close to her own neck. Somehow, she had thought laser swords generated heat, like the strange yellow-violet at the center of a hungry flame. When Anakin knelt over her, cutting away the possibility of death, she had never been so cold.

Once her handmaidens had been calmed and the apartment secured, Padme found herself infused and shaking like a copper wire. Belatedly, she felt death caress her insides, sang low and long under her bones. The memory of claws against her neck surfaced and she flinched, her arms moving as though to combat them. Death, she reminded herself, was only a change of state. Energy can not be created or destroyed. She feared pain in the most base sense, like the pick of a finger on the needle-- somehow death paled beside it. Hurt could loosen your lips, make your body betray you; it brought reality into sharp focus. Most of her life seemed like sleepwalking, all blurred at the edges, moving dreamily between dancing partners who would not notice if she screamed. Good day to you, Senator Feng Gala Miller Darklighter Siung Organa; how have you been, that's good to hear, I am well. She felt her own passage from hand to hand, always her eyes hidden, asleep. Pain was something you could wake up from, and perhaps that was most terrifying. 

She turned the pearl and rose-gold nob to cold as she entered the fresher, longing to wash away her own sweat and fear. Stepping under the torrent, she felt the chill in her soul extend until she was liquid silver, inseparable from the water. She might go down the drain and disappear. Almost without her notice, her limbs folded in on her body; she sank to the narrow marble ledge with the water caressing her sides. Dark as the wings she'd seen beating behind Anakin's eyes, her hair clung to her body like a second skin. She was a myth washed up on the shore and only pretending to be a woman. 

It wasn't a new feeling, but the fear added to it a taste like when you trip through the frost covered leaves on the first day of winter. It was as though she could rend and tear until her hands bled and she still wouldn't make a difference. The words of the Millitary Creation Proposal dripped down her throat; thick black letters in basic, and that was something beyond fear all together. She could see the droid armies rolling into Theed whenever she wished, whenever she closed her eyes. It wasn't herself she was worried for, but what pain might make her say, what power she had and what she did with it. 

Padme rested her head against the wall, her eyes tracing the delicate flower patterns on the tile. A light spray of water fell over her, the sound of the shower's torrent was like close rain or far thunder; with light coming through the pink fixture and the thick curtain pulled over the rest of the world, she felt almost protected. Maybe, if the past few days hadn't happened, Padme might have called the image of the young Tatooine slave boy to mind, and draw comfort from it. She had loved him, those years ago, with the wide love of someone she felt connected to; a dear friend she'd lost and suddenly found in a desert junk shop. In their time apart, she had addressed letters to him in her mind, spoken to his imagined form while preparing for state events. It was nice to have a face to entrust her worries to, even if he couldn't answer back. Comfort was taken from his adoration; she strove to be the flawless angel so she might remember the look in his eyes and not feel as though she wasn't worthy. Now, reaching for that little boy, she found herself blocked by his current form. The tall young man with Anakin's eyes and presence was different, something she couldn't navigate around. It was in the blue of his eyes, the flick of his tongue over the word 'beautiful'; the old mantle of snowy affection woven into something new. She hadn't wanted that to change-- his old 'crush' she could hold in the palm of her hand, even of the intensity burned. 

In a moment of frustration, her whole body shook, knocking from the side of the tub a small crystalline dish. Wax beads of all shapes tumbled into the water, bobbing up and down like flowers caught in a fountain. Padme replaced the dish on the shelf and watched them swirl; red, purple, blue and pearly white. Delicately, Padme plucked a red heart from the water, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. The light came through it, threw a small shadow on her hand. Anakin's young age had neutralized him so in her mind that now she found him an infinitely dangerous form of solace. She couldn't take anything from him any more-- not even his kindness. Looking at the red bead, Padme remembered that it wasn't the true shape of a human heart. It looked like a tear diverging, or else a bird with it's wings on the down beat. Suddenly, she brought her hands over it, pressing it between her palms until the smell of bursting ripe apple vanilla teased her nose. Parting her hands, she saw the red dye spread over them.

Feeling as almost as though she had been abandoned and had abandoned, Padme slipped beneath the icy water and held herself there for a moment, holding her breath deep inside her belly. Surfacing, she stepped out of the basin, running her fingers through her mass of curls. In the mirrored walls, she saw herself reflected an infinity times over; she wanted to somehow leave her body through her fingers and curl into a ball of energy. The muffled chime of the clock slipped under the door, and Padme let her hands fall to her sides.

Having woven her hair, Padme lay in bed, drawing her legs close until she could feel her heartbeat against her knees. The lights of the city came through the blinds and shattered on the floor; she closed her eyes and listened to Artoo's soft whir playing counter melody to her breathing. If she slept, she didn't notice-- it was just like being awake.

Full awareness came when she felt silk sliding over her shoulder and softness tucking against her form. There was nothing there, but in her mind's eye she saw a delicate white velvet quilt settling around her, embroidered with innocent silver and riddled the new crimson of want. The image was her's and wasn't, a mental composite. Padme's lips parted, she let out a small sigh that was almost a coo and relaxed before fully registered just what the image embodied; Anakin's affections. Her eyes opened swiftly, and stared off into the corridor that was as dark as her bedroom. 

"I'm awake, you know," she said, the sound seemed to ring in the empty air, and the blanket dissipated in a wave of what, to her only lightly sensitive mind, seemed like panic. 

"Sorry," Anakin's voice broke in the shadows, "I, that is, I... I wanted to make sure you were alright." 

"I'm alright," she murmured, cheek still pressed into the pillow, before a smile bloomed on her face, "I guess my plan worked."

"After a fashion," he said, his tone close and yet removed from anger. She heard him sigh, "Obiwan said I was using you as bait. I hadn't thought about it like that, or I wouldn't have agreed to it."

"Obiwan ought to know I can take care of myself," Padme answered crossly. 

"I know you can," Anakin shifted feet, before crossing the threshold fully. "But that was a little too close for my taste."

Propping herself up against her elbow, Padme brushed a stray lock of hair away with her free hand, "What were those things? Chanvalilian worms?"

"Or something like that."

"Poison," she said thoughtfully, "A quick death. Not a bad way to go."

"Not any way to go, for you," Anakin returned sharply. He sucked in a quick breath, "What I mean is, I don't want you to die. I told you, no one is going to hurt you." In the dim light, his blush was an anxious violet.

"What I was going to say," Padme continued, carefully stepping around his words, "was that it sounds like a professional attempt. They weren't trying to be brutal."

"We stopped the woman responsible," he was standing at the foot of the bed now, "She started to say it was a bounty hunter who hired her, but she died before we could get the rest of it."

"I'm not sure whether to be comforted or not," she answered dryly. Sitting up fully, she reached her hand towards the bedside lamp, only to hear it click on before her fingers got near it. The rose lamp on the vanity and the dim window lights came on as well; she narrowed her eyes and looked mock-sternly at Anakin.

"What?" he shrugged, holding one hand behind his head and avoiding her gaze, "You were going to turn on the lights anyway, right?" Shaking her head, Padme laughed softly, watching as Anakin took a seat on the very edge of her bed. If he perched any closer to the edge, she was sure he would fall off. They studied each other over the distance for a moment. "I... uh, I didn't hurt your neck, did I?"

Without thinking, Padme touched the cords of her throat, "No. Though I must admit that you startled me."

"I should think so," he blushed again, but hid it more swiftly, "I didn't mean to jump on your bed like that, but those things were going to..."

"Anakin," Padme turned her face so he could no longer avoid her eyes, "Thank you." For a moment, she thought she sensed the blanket reforming between them, and she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her crushed emerald nightgown dripping behind her. "I'm a little hungry-- do you want anything?" 

"Sure," he stood as well, following her out the door. Behind them, she heard the lights click off. 

He matched her pace in the hallway, and after a stir of her hair, she felt his hand touch her neck. She stopped as cold as an automated china doll. "What's this from?" he asked. Brushing his hand aside, she placed her own fingers against the scar, as if to erase the touch. 

"Oh, that old thing?" she asked as she lead him into the sitting room, "That's from when I was five."

"What happened?"

"Oh, I was playing on the stairs over Winter Circle break at the academy and fell-- some girls were playing with glass dolls on the steps bellow me and I crushed on against my neck."

"Ouch," Anakin said sympathetically.

"I broke my collar bone, too. The adults figured it out because I started doing everything with my left hand," Padme said a little proudly. She lifted her hand so he could see the full of it under her hair, "Ugly isn't it?" 

"No," Anakin said, taking a seat on the couch. Grinning up a her, he said, "I can beat that one, I think." Rolling up his left sleeve, he revealed a long line of raised red skin. 

"What did you *do* to yourself?"

"It's Obiwan's fault," Anakin said casually, "he fell into a nest of gundarks and I had to rescue him."

"Ah," Padme held her lips apart. Pointing to a smaller, wider scar, she asked, "And this?"

"Er," Anakin grimaced, "That's from when I was captured by a band of blood cultists and Obiwan had to rescue me."

"I see," Padme smiled, "But I think I can up you one..."

He raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?"

With a mysterious tilt of her lips, Padme lifted the skirt of her nightgown ever so slightly to reveal a long, deep cut on her calf. At Anakin's look, she said, "I fell off the roof."

"You *fell* off the roof?" he repeated, "What in the Force's name were you doing on the roof?"

"My third year room mate at the Academy was awful," Padme intoned, "I used to go out on the roof to get some privacy-- I'm actually fairly good at climbing." Her skirts settled about her ankles again, and she turned towards the black-wood kitchenette. "I'm going to have some cherry drop pastries. Is there something you want?"

"I'll just have what you're having," Anakin said lightly. She could feel his gaze following her movements as she opened the cabinets and heated the lily dish. Putting six of the round pastries on the burner, she sniffed appreciatively. "It should only take a second."

"Need any help?"

"If you'd pour us some water, that would be great," Padme touched a silver cooking stick to each ball of dough in turn, making sure they cooked through.

"Not a problem," he said, and fell silent. The two moved together in the small space, until the food was ready and they carried their plates to the low coffee table. 

"This is a nice midnight supper," Padme remarked, taking her seat on the couch. Anakin sat opposite her, situating the cups with care.

"Thank you," he said, and then, "I hope we don't wake anyone else up." Just a hint of blood came to Padme's cheeks, and she busied herself with the pastries, delicately spearing one and taking it to her lips. For a moment, she closed her eyes and savored the taste.

"What?" she asked, opening her eyes to find Anakin studying her. 

"Nothing," the padawan grinned, "I just liked the look on your face."

"Try some," Padme indicated. She watched Anakin in turn as he took a bite, knowing he was looking at her through his half closed eyes.

"This is good," he tapped his fork against the plate, "This is very good." Then, in a low teasing voice, "Obiwan would be very upset at me now, you know. You could be poisoning me." In a deep, mimicking voice, "Politicians are not to be trusted."

"I might be," Padme winked, taking a sip of her water. 

"Very sweet poison," Anakin looked as if the words had not been made to pass his lips, his eyes seemingly focused on the whole of the woman before him. Coloring again, Padme shot him what she was beginning to think of as her 'bemused-by-Anakin' smile.

"So," she shifted in her seat, "How have you been?"

"Fine. Good," he said, eyes still on her.

"Good."

"And you?" 

Padme breathed in the sudden discomfort around them, "I've been well. As well as can be expected, recently."

"I saw you on the holo-vid when you took your oath as senator," he said earnestly.

"Really?" 

"Yes," A pause, "You looked wonderful."

Another strange smile, "You're far too nice to me."

"I only speak the truth, my lady," he replied with a tilt of his chin. 

The silverware clinked and chimed against the china, an off-kilter, impromptu symphony. Padme's eyes rested on the lights of the city over Anakin's shoulder, her focus blurring until each bright point looked large enough to hold in her hand. 

"Can I tell you something?" Anakin asked with stumbling urgency. Once again, Padme saw the child's intensity that frightened her. Within the folds of her nightgown, her fingers fisted, lest she reach out to touch it. You can be frightened of the things you want Mutely, she nodded. "I used to write letters to you, all the time, in my head." Anakin ducked his head, his voice flowing towards her without his gaze, "I'd be fighting with Obiwan, or have failed a test, and I'd just start talking to you."

Padme's lungs fluttered, trying desperately to be wings, "I did the same thing."

His smile put the twin suns of his home to shame; "Really?"

"Yes," she said, and hated that it had come out at all. Why should she admit it, when his reentry had taken all of her safe fondness for him? Suddenly, she was angry with him for growing up at all. To defuse the bright web spinning inside her, Padme said, "It would have been nice if we could have grown up together."

"Yeah," Anakin said wistfully, "But I'm glad to be here now. I..." he stopped suddenly, and Padme tilted her head waiting for him to continue. "No," Anakin motioned with his hand, "Turn your head just a little that way. Yeah."

Holding perfectly still, Padme asked, "Why?"

"I'm trying to figure out what color your eyes are," he said seriously.

She laughed, "Brown, most people tell me."

"Nah," he shook his head, "That's not it at all."

"Oh really?" sadness was creeping into her veins for some reason, and Padme pressed her lips together, feeling very removed. 

Only now that the world's edges blurred did she realize she had escaped her long dream waltz; the burden settled back on her shoulders, and she felt very far away. Anakin came to sit at her feet, gently lifting her hand from its place at her side. He held it in his own hand like a little bird, moving her limp fingers between her own.

"Why do you always seem like you're not in your body?" he asked, his whisper like a gray morning coming through a window. "It didn't used to be like this."

"It's always been like this," Padme said, remembering a song abut a poor marionette in the rain.

"I want you to be in your body," Anakin said fiercely, "When we came to see you... Otherwise, even if I hold your hand its like you're not even there." He cupped her palm against his own, using his free hand to trace the contours.

"Stop that," she bit her lip to draw blood, retrieving her hand. It curled against her breast like an animal seeking shelter. Sighing, she leaned back against the cushions, feeling her misery filter onto her face. Anakin shifted, then rested his head against her knee. To her horror, Padme's hands came to tangle in his short hair, threading his padawan braid through his fingers. She thought she heard him make a happy sound, and her teeth set against the words on her tongue. "Why couldn't you have just stayed a little boy?"

He knew what she meant, and turned his cheek to lay beside her hand, "I would have, if I'd known it would make you happy." They rested there, exchanging something wordless where they touched. Padme closed her eyes, drawing from him all that she could while promising herself that she would not touch him again. His padawan braid rested in her fisted hand, and it seemed as though there was rough disproval in its strands. Darkness descended behind her eyes, and she knew Anakin had turned off the lights. His lips turned to her hand, kissing each finger with almost painful attention, murmuring words into her finger tips. To her drifting mind, it sounded like the rest of the song-- "marionette, your dress is all wet..."

There was a sound, way off in the distance, like cold air dashing itself against a building, and they both jumped, opening their eyes to a moment suffused with white. 

"Xia den," Padme murmured, startled into Nubian. Louder, she said, "Lightning." Her laugh was brittle, "That's the thing about Coruscant," her hands removed themselves from Anakin entirely, "There's thunder and lightening sometimes, but because we mess with the weather, it never really rains." Both stood, and Padme took steps backwards, feeling a mile for each thread in the carpet. 

"I wish it would rain," Anakin said, his voice talking about something else entirely. Silently, they took their plates to the sink, moving slowly in the darkness. 

"It's late," Padme said, "We should both get back to bed." Saying nothing, Anakin followed her like a shadow, remaining in the threshold as she passed towards her bed. Somehow, she knew he'd reached for her hand and missed. Settling under the covers, Padme coughed softly. Artoo beeped, low and concerned, his dome seeming to eye between the two of them. "Good night, Anakin."

His form wavered in the doorway, "Good night, my lady."

Neither of them said anything about good dreams.

Laying perfectly still, Padme's hand reached under the pillow, holding onto a small, carved charm, because she felt the white quilt folded respectfully at the end of her bed and she wanted so desperately to have its warmth about her shivering shoulders.


End file.
